


The Man on the Balcony

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Depression, F/M, Smoking, Suicidal Hints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5723713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is on the edge, and he does not want to be. Maker take him, he wants it to be easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the view

Varric is sat on the railings of the balcony when Cassandra comes home.

“Varric? Where are - _VARRIC!_ ”

The tone of panic is enough to jolt him from his idle thoughts, and he twists to look over his shoulder.

“I’m not gonna _jump,_ ” he says softly. “I just -”

“Varric, _please_ get down.” Her hands are clasped, knuckles white, and he feels a strange pang at the look on her face.

“I just like the _view,_ ” he says lamely, but hoists himself back down. The moment his feet touch the concrete, she flies to him, arms wrapping around him tightly.

“Never do that again,” she whispers, and he holds her gently, sighing.

“I wouldn’t _do_ it,” he points out. “Pretty sure I’m not brave enough.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s true.”

“ _Shut up._ ” She pulls away, angry tears in her eyes, and he swallows, the familiar weight of guilt on his shoulders again. “You always _say_ these things. Why must you always say these things?”

“Because I can’t _write_ them.”

She visibly flinches. “I see.”

He sighs, his own irritation beginning to bristle. “It’s not because of you -”

“Six months and four days,” she replies. “I know you are counting.”

“It’s just a slump -”

She laughs, weak and quiet. “Varric, it is more than that and you know it. Stop pretending it is just -”

“It’s not you!” he snaps. “Why do you have to find fault and blame in everything? Why can’t this just be something that happens?”

It is an old argument - but they all are, now, worn through and practised and he is not sure where each one ends and the next one begins. They stare at each other, anger and hurt, and suddenly it hits Varric that they are running out of things to say. What more could be done when the only words were painful ones? What was left to save?

The realisation burns in his chest, acrid and hot until it bursts from him in a choking cry.

Cassandra’s head snaps up, her body quick to move as she scurries over to his side. “Varric?”

He tries to swallow the next burst, but it spills out, a sob followed by tears that blind him. He grasps for her hand, and finds himself bundled up into her embrace.

“Varric, what -”

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, and she tightens around him. “I don’t want to break up, I want to be - I want to be happy with you. I don’t want to _not_ be with you, Cassandra.”

“Oh, _Varric_.”

“But we keep fighting and we keep snapping and if it were anyone else in my place I would have told them to get out and - and I don’t want to. I don’t _want_ to.”

Her hand is shaking as she strokes his hair, and he buries his face in the crook of her body.

“I do not -” She swallows, and his fingers tighten around her shirt. “Varric, I am tired of being upset all the time. I am so _tired_. And I love you. And that is all I know anymore - we love each other and it is exhausting.”

“I love you,” he breathes. “I love you more than anything.”

“I know. I know.”

“Stay.” He pulls back, looking up into her eyes. “Don’t go. Don’t - don’t _leave_.” His voice cracks, and her expression mirrors it, her own tears starting to fall.

“Oh, _Varric_ -”

“Cassandra, I _love_ you -”

She cuts him off, pulling him into a crushing embrace. “I would _never_ ,” she whispers, shaking, and he wraps his arms around her tight as she cries. “I would never, never _ever_.”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“Never.”

“We’re gonna be okay, aren’t we?”

She does not answer, the rush of emotion wracking her still, and he reaches up to stroke her neck lightly.

“Sshhh. Come on.” Shifting his weight, he hoists her up into his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. “We’re tired, and it's been a long day.” He swallows. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry for a lot of things. We can get better. I know we can.”

She murmurs something, too soft for him to catch, hand curling around his shirt.

“What’d you say?”

“I love you.”

He kisses her forehead. “Love you too. Love you so much.”

*

The hour is late.

They face each other on the bed, lying on their sides, and Varric is struck by how tired Cassandra looks. _I did this to you,_ he thinks, and reaches out to caress her cheek.

“I think I should see a doctor,” she murmurs.

“Yeah?”

“Mm. I think you should, too.”

He swallows. “Probably.”

“We are trying to fix the wrong things. We need to look after ourselves before we can fix ‘us’.”

“But you do want to, don’t you? Fix us, _be_ us.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He sighs. “Okay. I’ll… find someone. Tomorrow.”

Her hand rises to cover his, touch light. “And… I think I am going to stay with Leliana for a few days.”

Something in his stomach falls away. “Oh.”

“Just for a few days.”

“Yeah.”

“You do not believe me.”

“I want to. But... no, I don’t.”

“Varric -”

“It’s not you, it’s… it’s just scars. But that’s what the doctor’s supposed to help with, right?”

She smiles slightly. “Yes. For both of us.”

“Well then.”

“Can I - I mean, can we still talk?”

He pulls her hand to his lips, a gentle kiss against her palm. “Always. Any time of day, you just call me.”

“I will miss you.”

“I know.”

“You believe that, at least?”

“Yeah.” He manages a smile. “Yeah, I do.”


	2. worry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps apologies for the eyewrenching formatting on the previous chapter, I posted from my phone and it was _not great._ all fixed now.

The morning comes and goes, and so does Cassandra, and Varric finds himself quite alone by midday. The door to the balcony is locked. She leaves him the key, but he understands the message.

Still, he occupies his time with four cigarettes and two phone calls, and by the time his stomach growls in hunger he has booked an appointment with his doctor and a recommended therapist, which is a damned sight more than he expected when he started the packet of smokes.

Food is inelegant, a mish mash of leftovers, and thoroughly unsatisfying. He leaves it on the plate, opting for another cigarette - the forbidden fruit of his relationship with Cassandra, she had asked him to stop and he had, because he loved her. He loves her still, he thinks, and stubs out the stick before reaching its end, hating himself for it.

The phone rings, and Varric reaches out for the receiver, holding it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Varric?”

He swallows. “Hey, you. Miss me already?”

“Yes.” The admittance is soft, shaky. She sounds sad. “I know this is the right thing to do, but it is still… hard.”

He rolls onto his side, the phone wedged between his ear and the bed, and his fingers reach to trail over her pillow. “Yeah. It’s shit.”

“I am sorry for doing this to us.”

“We did it together, sweetheart. Just like everything else. We’re a team, even when we’re shit.”

On the other end, fabric rustles. “This bed is too soft.” A beat. “Too small.”

He smiles. “Nothing wrong with a small bed. Remember when we started dating? You only had that single bed.”

“I remember.”

“Stacked like toy soldiers, we were.”

“Our games were more fun,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice.

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

“I love you. And I’m not just saying it -”

“I know.”

He closes his eyes. “It’s gonna be alright, isn’t it?”

There is a pause as she lets out a long sigh. “Yes,” she says finally, a crackle in the line, “but we have to  _ make _ it alright, instead of hoping for the best and doing nothing.”

He swallows.

“Varric?”

“Sorry. Still here.”

“You know I love you too.”

“Yeah.”

Regardless, a warmth spreads in his chest at hearing it.

 

*

 

Time passes.

She had called every day, had missed him awfully, had told him every detail of her days - her psychiatrist was kind, her doctor was cold, the barista misspelt her name… every human interaction was shared, in lieu of sharing one with him. At the end of the week, he had been the one to suggest that she stay a little longer, and though they both knew it was the right thing to do, still she had cried.

The weekend had been long and quiet, and Monday morning brings a visitor. Cassandra panics.

“He’s not picking up to any of us,” says Hawke. “He hasn’t cut himself off from us for… well, since I’ve known him. What’s going  _ on  _ with you two?”

“I am not always sure,” she admits, hands wringing. “Should I go -”

“Yes. Just to make sure he’s alive.”

She remembers him on the balcony and retches.

 

*

 

She uses her key, hands trembling as she opens the door.

“Varric? Varric, are you in here?”

From the bedroom, she hears a soft thump, and her heart tightens.

“Varric?!”

“Alright, alright, where’s the fire?” He emerges, disheveled and clearly still half-asleep, but whole. She flies to him, pushing him back into their bedroom as she kisses him hard. They tumble into bed, his hands wrapping around her waist and her hips grinding against his and a litany of moans as they devour each other, only coming up for air.

“Shit. What was that for?”

“I missed you. And you have not been answering your phone, and I -”

He pales. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’ve been writing. Really, really writing. I only fell asleep a few hours ago because I couldn’t see straight.”

“Oh.” She lets out a soft exhale. “Oh, I feel so  _ stupid _ .”

“Hey, no, I’m sorry, it’s my fault.” He smiles up at her, a crooked thing that makes her heart skip. “You came over and kissed me. I miss that.”

Her hands curl around his shirt. “I miss it too. I miss you. I miss our apartment.” She wrinkles her nose. “I do not miss the mess.”

“Writing,” he repeats. “Nonstop. It’s been terrifying. Great, but terrifying.”

“I am glad you are writing again.” She leans down, pressing a soft kiss to his nose. “But I should let you sleep. I am sorry for disturbing you.”

“You can disturb me any time, especially if you’re going to tackle me into bed.” His grip on her waist tightens, and he grins. “Seeing as we’re here…”

“Varric -”

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay. I just… I mean, you’re  _ here _ . And we’re not arguing.” He reaches up to cup her cheek. “It’s nice, not arguing with you.”

She swallows, nodding. “It is. And I… I  _ do  _ want to. But I feel… I feel out of sorts, and I -”

“It’s alright.” His thumb is soft as he traces her scars. “You were scared. I keep scaring you, I’m sorry.”

“It was not your fault.”

“It was.” He eases her back, sitting up and cuddling her close. “Not on purpose, but it was.”

She buries her face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. She misses him  - misses his presence, his warmth, his laughter. She had not heard that in far too long.

“Varric?”

“Mm?”

“I want to stay.”

He tightens around her. “I know,” he whispers. “I know. But this is the part where we make it right, instead of hoping. And it’s hard. But you know why it’s hard.”

She bites back the tears, buries the cry in her chest, remembering the words given to her as a child.  _ Sometimes things are hard, Cassie. But they’re only hard because the reward is worth having. _

“I love you,” he murmurs, stroking her hair. “I love you.”

She loves him too, though the words are stuck.


	3. the date

Months pass.

“... and the butcher did not even know what was in the sausages. Honestly, you would have been appalled.”

Varric makes a note of her story, scrawled sentences that would be illegible to anyone else. “I already am appalled,” he admits, embellishing the tale with a flick of his wrist. “What a waste of your time.”

She huffs down the phone. “It really was!”

“Speaking of your time… do you want to go on a date next week?”

“A date? Why?” She stops. “I mean why as in, is there a specific reason you are asking me this now, not ‘why would you ask me on a date in general’.”

He smiles. “No reason. I just… want to take you out to dinner. Maybe that Antivan place you like.”

“But you hate it there.”

“I hated that waiter. The food was good.”

“What if he still works there?”

“Then I’ll grin and bear it.”

“Varric -”

“I will. For you.”

She falls silent, and he can almost hear her unspoken question.  _ Why is it different now? Why can you bear it now, but not then? _

“A date,” she says finally, and he can hear the smile in her voice. “Just us?”

“Just us.”

“I would like that.”

“Yeah? Great. Thursday alright?”

They work out details, and Varric feels dangerously optimistic.

 

*

 

Cassandra is still getting changed when Varric turns up, and as she slips from the bedroom she can hear the faint conversation between him and Leliana.

“Are you done hurting one another?” he friend asks, and Cassandra lingers at the top of the stairs to hear the answer.

“I hope so. Yeah. I mean, I never wanted to, obviously, but… I did.”

“Therapy suits you.”

“Apparently.”

“Cassandra told me you are writing again.”

“Yeah. Sort of semi-autobiographical. About a guy who doesn’t realise how damaged he is until he’s out on a ledge and people are telling him to get down, and how he deals with that. The Man on the Balcony.”

Cassandra feels a lump in her throat. “You were never  _ damaged _ , Varric,” she murmurs, but the conversation continues without her.

“Sounds heavy.”

“Yeah, I guess it is. Good for me, though, even if I never publish it.”

Leliana’s voice raises. “Cassandra? You are going to be late!”

She jolts at that, before straightening her jacket and slipping into the main room.

Varric is sat down, but at sight of her he stands, eyes lighting up. “Hey.”

“You cut your hair,” she smiles.

He swallows. “You look amazing. I mean, you always look great, but you look  _ fantastic _ .”

“Thank you.” Her hands are tight around her purse, betraying her nervousness. “Shall we?”

He offers his arm, and she laughs, before taking his hand in hers.

“Do not get into trouble!” warns Leliana from the couch. “I am not bailing anyone out!”

“I make no promises, Nightingale,” he calls back, winking up at Cassandra.

She feels a flare of youth at his smile. It is good.

 

*

 

Varric brings her back to the apartment first, promising good wine and a dance, but the bottle goes untouched as he sets the old record player up.

“You just can’t beat the ambience of vinyl,” he says, and she laughs.

“It is romantic,” she admits, the slow melody filling the room.

He takes her hand, pulling her closer. “Like this?”

“Yes.”

“Like we used to.”

She nods, and they dance, footsteps soft and slow as the music wraps around them.

After a moment, he looks up at her. “Do you want it to be like it was, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we argued a lot -”

“ _ Before _ then.”

“We always argued, sweetheart. From the day I met you, we argued.”

“That was different.” But she does not look convinced as he spins her around carefully.

“Not really.”

“No. Not really. But to say it makes us sound hopeless.”

“Ah, there's always hope. We've not argued in months. That's something.”

“But we have been apart all that time. What if we cannot bear to be together?”

“We talked every day. Sometimes twice.”

“But -”

He dips her, face inches away from his own. “We can do it, but only by trying.  _ You _ told me that, when we started this.”

She swallows. He can count her eyelashes. “I did.”

“I believed you. I  _ still _ believe you.” He smiles slightly. “I mean, you're  _ never _ wrong…”

At that, she laughs, shaking her head slightly. “You are ridiculous.”

“And yet you still try.”

“I do.”

“Don't lose hope, not now. We're doing good.”

“I only worry -”

“I know. You always worry. But it's alright now, isn't it? Today's been good?”

“Today has been  _ wonderful _ .” She smiles, and Varric cannot help but mirror it.

“Good. And we didn't even need bailing out, so Nightingale’ll be happy.” His thumb is light as it brushes over the bare skin of her back. “I’m not worried anymore. I trust you, and I hope you trust me.”

“I do.” She swallows. “I do, Varric.”

His gaze drops to her lips for a moment. “Can I -”

She pulls herself closer, lips closing over his mouth, and the rest of his sentence dissolves into a moan as she kisses him soundly. Her hands grasp at his shirt, his arms coming around to pin her against his chest.

“Take me to bed?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

“Always,” he murmurs, hoisting her into his arms as he carries her to the bedroom.


	4. ever

The dates become more frequent, and Cassandra feels a thrill the day she leaves her toothbrush in the bathroom. She stayed over two nights a week now, curling up to him in their bed as he told her about the story he was writing. 

“Varric?”

“Mm?”

“I was thinking -”

He sits up, and she shifts to face him, surprised by the worried look in his eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

“What? No, I -”

“If it's boring, I can stop.”

“Varric, I  _ like _ listening to your stories.”

“Yeah, but it's not really romantic or anything -”

“ _ Varric _ .”

He stills as she takes his hand, though he still looks concerned.

“Varric, I have been thinking that perhaps - if you agree, of course - well, that I might… move back here.”

He stares at her for a long moment, unreadable.

“I mean, only if you think it appropriate,” she adds. “I would not -”

He reaches up to cup her face, his palm warm against her cheek. “Come home,” he murmurs, before kissing her. Her chest swells with joy, arms wrapping around him as she falls into his embrace. “Oh, come  _ home _ . I want you to stay. I love you.”

“I love you, Varric. I love you so much.”

They fall sideways against the pillows, a mirror of where this had all begun, and he smiles, stroking her cheek.

“I fell in love with you all over again, you know,” he offers quietly.

“Truly?”

“Yeah. Even found a little love for myself.”

“Oh, Varric.”

“It's alright. Work in progress, just like us.”

She smiles, pressing soft kisses to his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks. “You have come so far, my love. I am so proud, Varric.  _ So  _ proud.”

“You’ve come a long way too,” he points out, hand skipping down her side and coming to rest on her hip.

“True. We are different people.”

“And yet still here.” He smiles up at her. “It’s good.”

“Better than good,” she murmurs, forehead against his. “So much better than good.”

 

*

 

Varric is quite glad there is nobody to see him skipping through his apartment - he would never live it down, but he just could not stop. He had cleaned the place from top to bottom, had bought flowers to liven the living room up, had even cleaned the oven - which, he privately realised, was the first time he had ever tackled the job. But even the shame of that does not last long after his phone chirrups.

_ Just about to head off. Pizza tonight? No anchovies, I promise. x _

He grins, tapping out a quick response -  _ sounds good, sweetheart. See you soon <3 x _ \- before letting loose a soft chuckle. He was quite sure his happiness would be unbearable to everyone else, but he could not contain it.

Cassandra was coming home.

Of course, they both know there is still work to be done - they have gotten comfortable with this new status quo, and boundaries would be tested. But they would manage it, hand in hand. He knows that much.

His phone buzzes on the table, and he smiles as he spies Bull’s name. Probably complaining about the lack of parking again.

“Hey, Tiny. Can’t fit the van in -”

And then everything stops.

It was an accident, the man explains - someone driving too fast around the corner. They had not driven off, devastated at what they had done. Bull had tried to keep her talking, but she had slipped under. It was bad, that much was evident in the tightness of Bull’s voice. Slim chance, he murmurs, but better than none.

The phone drops out of Varric’s grip and bounces off the carpet, and Varric falls to his knees and cries.

 

*

 

In the dusk of the evening, Varric sits on the railings of the balcony, unlit cigarette between his lips.

“Is this it?” he murmurs.

Beyond him, on the table, his phone buzzes aggressively, too far to see who might be calling. They would want to know why he was not at her side, why he did not want to say goodbye. He swallows the thought, pushes it away. Not goodbye. Not her. They had come so far, alone and apart, to finally find the good in each other. It was supposed to be better. It was supposed to end differently.

She was supposed to be  _ happy _ .

_ I want to stay. _

_ It was wonderful. _

_ Take me to bed. _

_ I am so proud, Varric, so - _

He looks down.

“Oh.”

And it hits him, all at once - he was not brave enough to jump. He was brave enough to walk away. That had been why she was so upset that day - she saw him step back and thought it brave, and he had been so dismissive of it. 

But she was not here now. And Varric did not know if he was strong enough to step back this time.

The cigarette falls into the night.

Varric takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and thinks of Cassandra’s smile.

His phone buzzes again. The tears drip down, down, down. His fingers tighten around the railing.

_ I love you, Varric. I love you so much. _

“Don’t… don’t leave.” The words come unbidden, and he swallows, fingers loosening just a fraction around the cold metal..

_ I would never. Never ever. _


End file.
